


give praise where praise is due

by Cinaed



Series: Days of Donut [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Casual Sex, Emotional Constipation, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hook-Up, M/M, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 14:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18719197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: Grif knows exactly how this will play out-- over too fast, vaguely disappointing, one of those quickies that’s only good in that you got off and not much more. Still, Donut’s boredom is infectious, and it’s a more appealing thought than just staring at a quiet Blue Base for the next few hours. And Donut might actually shut up during sex, which would make the whole thing worth it. Also, Grif really doesn’t want to die of blue balls.He shrugs. “Sure.”--Grif and Donut figure out a way to liven up their watch duty.





	give praise where praise is due

**Author's Note:**

> Day two of Days of Donut for Rare Pairs Week! 
> 
> This one is set shortly post-surgery.
> 
> Thanks goes out again to Aryashi for looking this over and making some great suggestions.

There are worse places to be than stuck on watch duty with Donut, Grif knows. Under their feet and deep within Red Base, Sarge tinkering on Simmons’ cyborg arm. Grif can’t wait to see what useless 'improvements' he’s made. Last time he installed cutlery into the fingertips. Watching Simmons struggle to eat his MRE was funny for about five seconds before Grif felt bad about it, and then annoyed about feeling bad, so hopefully this improvement will actually be funny. So there are totally worse places. Watch duty still sucks though. 

Donut sighs loudly.

Grif ignores him. He adjusts his helmet and takes a long drag of his cigarette, since Simmons isn’t around to bitch at him for ruining his donated lung with carcinogens and shit. He glances towards Blue Base, but no one’s even on watch at the moment, which either means they’re all asleep or they’re planning some pointless attack that's going to interrupt breakfast tomorrow.  

“Grif, I’m bored! Why can’t we chat like you and Simmons do?”

“We don’t chat,” Grif says. That’s a lie. He and Simmons talk about movies and Sarge’s latest bullshit (even if Simmons defends Sarge’s stupidity nine times out of ten) and how they’d survive multiple kinds of apocalypse. He shrugs. “Even if we do, we don’t ask your dumb questions. Come on. You don’t need to know if I have siblings.”

Donut’s sigh turns to an annoyed huff. “Why is asking about your family dumb? I’m trying to get to know my teammate! We’ve been on this base together for ages, and I don’t know anything about you--”

“And I know too much about you,” Grif mutters. He knows the exact hand cream Donut uses, when both of his moms started menopause, what Donut’s favorite chore is on the farm, what he looks like as Officer Hot Pants, all useless facts that Grif has tried and failed to scrub from his brain.

“And I’m _bored_ ,” Donut repeats, sounding like it’s the worst thing in the universe. “I’m so--”

“Jesus Christ, Donut. I’d rather be bored out of my goddamn mind than have more shit happen to us.” Grif gestures broadly, encompassing Donut’s face and his own replacement limbs with one movement. Not that he can see Donut’s face, but he knows there are scars from the grenade.

“But there’s nothing to _do_ here. The Blues aren’t even outside right now! We’re just going to stand here for hours and do nothing, just like always.” Donut heaves another sigh as Grif takes another drag of his cigarette. “I’m going to be the first person to medically die of boredom." His voice brightens momentarily. "Hey, do you think they'll name it after me?”

Grif rolls his eyes. “Christ. Just jerk off if you’re that bored. That’s what the rest of us do.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Donut says, a weird note to his voice, “Uh, right now?”

Grif squints at him. “What?”

“You just said to jerk off,” Donut says, still in that weird voice that has Grif suddenly clenching his teeth and almost biting his cigarette in half. “Do you do that with Simmons? Have jerk-off sessions together and I’m not invited?”

The cigarette falls out of Grif’s mouth. He feels a little like he’s been run over again. Heat crawls up the back of his neck. Is Donut suddenly standing closer to him? “What? No! Simmons wouldn’t-- I don’t-- I meant by yourself, dumbass!”

“That’s not as fun,” Donut says, and he actually sounds like he’s pouting.

Grif thinks about the last time he had someone else’s hand on his dick. Fuck, it had been before Basic, one last desperate hookup before he was deployed. If Donut is going to die of boredom, Grif is going to die of an acute case of blue balls. He knows better, but he can’t help the snort and mutter of, “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

“Oh, really?” Donut says. Now he’s definitely in Grif’s personal space, touching Grif’s arm with gauntleted fingers. “You know, if it’s been too long, we could help each other out….”

Grif’s flat refusal gets caught in his throat as Donut strokes his fingers down Grif’s arm. He can’t really feel it, the touch is too light to really register, but the slow slide of the gauntlet across the orange armor is mesmerizing. Grif’s stupid dick gets interested in the conversation. He swallows. “Uh.” He should say no. He knows exactly how this will play out-- over too fast, vaguely disappointing, one of those quickies that’s only good in that you got off and not much more. Still, Donut’s boredom is infectious, and it’s a more appealing thought than just staring at a quiet Blue Base for the next few hours. And Donut might actually shut up during sex, which would make the whole thing worth it. Also, Grif really doesn’t want to die of blue balls.

He shrugs. “Sure.”

“Sure? I’d like a little more enthusiasm in that yes,” Donut scolds even as he starts working at the clasps of Grif’s helmet. “Now, let’s get this pesky armor off.”

Grif bats his hands away. “It’ll be faster if we do it ourselves.”

“But less fun,” Donut says. “It’ll be like opening up a present!”

Grif waits, but there’s no innuendo forthcoming. He blinks. Huh, he really thought Donut was going to add some weird line about blowing out Grif’s candle. He watches as Donut’s hands go to his own helmet. Curiosity pricks at him. The one and only time he’d seen Donut’s face was right after the grenade, when he was looking worse for the wear.

Donut looks better now, though there’s a faint pattern of pale scars on his face, almost looking like the web of the spider Donut thought the grenade was initially. The scars are half-hidden by his hair. Without the helmet, his eager anticipation is obvious. He looks at Grif and actually licks his lips, which sends a jolt of surprised lust through Grif.  

It’s only when Donut’s expression turns puzzled that Grif realizes he’s been staring. Fuck, it really has been a while, if he’s getting distracted by Donut’s stupid face. He shrugs again. “Fine, whatever. You can take off my armor. Less work for me.”

Donut beams. He steps in close, crowding Grif against the pillar. When he takes Grif’s helmet off, his expression lights up and he makes a low, appreciative sound. Grif’s not prepared for that, or for the way Donut says, “Beautiful.”

Grif snorts, uncomfortable. “Dudes aren’t beautiful, dumbass.”

“Handsome, then,” Donut says easily, like it’s obvious.

Grif grimaces. “You don’t have to be nice to me. You’re already getting laid.”

Donut blinks at him, puzzled. “I’m just being honest.”

Grif’s about to call him on his bullshit when Donut gets back to stripping him out of his armor. Donut turns out to be that guy who doesn’t tear the wrapping paper but carefully peels off the tape and pulls away the paper. He takes his time, and makes it worse by murmuring compliments the entire time, gauntleted fingertips stroking over Grif’s exposed shoulders and along his hips. “Beautiful,” he keeps repeating, and then correcting himself with a low laugh. “Handsome. Look at your muscles! I don’t think Sarge realizes how hard you work during drills, to get those lovely arms. And your hair, it’s so soft--”

The compliments and gentle touches make Grif feel weird. He can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that, pleased just by the sight of him. He wants to tell Donut to shut up, but if he opens his mouth, he has a feeling he’s going to make an embarrassing noise instead, so he just clenches his jaw and breathes hard.

Eventually there’s only the bodysuit half off his hips that’s left.

Donut pauses then. He licks his lips again, and Grif braces for another weird compliment. Then Donut takes a step back, laughing shakily. He runs his hand over his hair and shakes his head, muttering, “You’re so-- I need to--” As Grif blinks at him, Donut fumbles with his own armor, scattering pink everywhere. Only once he’s down to his bodysuit as well does Donut crowd in again, his hands hot on Grif’s stomach. “I couldn’t wait another second,” he says, almost apologetic. “I just had to touch you. You’re so gorgeous.”

This time Grif can’t stop the shudder that jolts through him.

Donut’s hands go still. He looks puzzled for a second. Then his eyes widen and a new smile lights his face. One hand rises and strokes knuckles along Grif’s cheek as he sucks in a startled breath and fights the stupid urge to press his face into Donut’s hand.

Donut murmurs, “Did you know that with the skin graft, you blush like Simmons? It’s _adorable_.”

Embarrassment tangles with the hot knot in Grif’s gut. The skin graft is something he tries not to think about, and mostly doesn’t until he has to confront his own reflection in the mirror whenever he brushes his teeth. He makes the mistake of trying to tell Donut to fuck off. Instead he makes the exact noise he was worried about, his dick twitching against the confines of the bodysuit. This isn’t a quickie. This is slow torture, Grif realizes. He’s got to speed things up.  

He goes on the offensive, reaching out to palm Donut’s dick with one hand. When Donut gasps, his expression going briefly slack, Grif uses his distraction to go for the bodysuit zipper at Donut’s neck. He yanks the zipper down, trying to strip him out of the suit.

Donut shuts up for a few blissful seconds, gasping and squirming a little. He makes a few halfhearted gestures like he’ll help Grif, but doesn't protest when Grif bats his hands away again. The bodysuit has pooled at his feet when he recovers his voice. There’s a thick, almost syrupy quality to his voice when he smiles at Grif and says, “Oh, I _knew_ you’d be good with your hands.”

Heat crawls into Grif’s face. “Donut,” he tries to growl. Everything’s a little too much. The desert air is warm, but there’s a light breeze tickling his skin and ruffling his hair. Grif can’t remember when he’s breathed this much fresh air, unfiltered through his helmet. He sort of wants to just close his eyes and take a few deep breaths, enjoy it, but then he’s distracted by the way Donut’s smile widens in a way that promises trouble.

Donut hooks his fingers under Grif’s bodysuit, still at Grif’s hips, and gives them a small tug, slipping them a little lower. He licks his lips again, giving Grif a slow study from head to toe. “What a nice show, and all for me.” Donut suddenly giggles. “Well, unless any Blues are watching!”

It takes Grif a second to understand. This time he really does growl, glancing towards the darkened base. Some of the heat cools at the thought of those assholes getting a free show. “Don’t talk about those idiots right now.”

Donut hums in agreement and pushes the rest of the bodysuit off Grif’s hips and to the ground. Then he gets in close again, his expression intent. His gaze dips to Grif’s mouth. His eyes darken. “I bet you’re good with your mouth too.”

Grif’s mind offers up a few X-rated ideas. He's so hard it hurts, like his body's reminding him about the blue ball situation. He forgets about the fresh breeze and the Blues and the fact that their other teammates are downstairs. All of his attention narrows down to Donut and the way he’s still staring at Grif’s lips. Before Donut can do something really weird like kiss him, Grif slides his hand between them and palms Donut’s dick again, grabbing at his own at the same time. “Do you talk _more_ during sex?” he mumbles as Donut gasps.

Donut’s expression unfocuses, and he sighs. A flush creeps down his throat. “T-talking makes things more, uh, um, fun.” He sighs again, rubbing himself against Grif’s hand with small, increasingly urgent movements. “Don’t you want to know how good you’re making me feel? How good you are?” His fingers curl into Grif’s hair. “Because you’re so good--”

Grif gets his fingers around Donut’s erection and slides his hand from the base to the tip.

The rough stroke shuts Donut up again for a few seconds, and then he moans in a way that goes straight to Grif’s dick. “Grif,” Donut says, and Grif hates the way he says his name.

Donut’s not going to stop talking, Grif realizes. He's just going to keep saying all this ridiculous stuff and sighing his name in that weird, pleased way if Grif doesn’t figure something out. Grif’s desperate enough to grind himself against his hand one more time, relieving the pressure a little, and then he reaches for Donut’s jaw. He’s got half of a plan in his head, to hold Donut’s stupid mouth shut so that he can’t say his name or keep talking, but as he reaches out, Donut’s eyes light up.

“Oh!” Donut says. The new note in his voice makes Grif hesitate just long enough for Donut to dip his head and suck the tips of two of Grif’s fingers into his mouth. Donut’s tongue curls around the pale skin of Simmons’ fingers-- no, _Grif_ ’s new fingers. Donut nips lightly, leaving faint pink indentations in the white skin.

Grif can’t tell if it’s surprise or the sensation that makes this hand more sensitive than the original, but his nerves spark with each roll of Donut’s tongue, the unexpected press of his cheeks as Donut sucks on his fingers. Grif’s lucky he’s against the pillar, because his knees go weak. He groans, and groans again as Donut hums approvingly. Grif can’t breathe. He can’t even appreciate that he’s shut Donut up, because the plan’s fucked anyway. Donut is looking at him with wide-eyed delight, like he thinks Grif’s come up with something wonderful.

Grif closes his eyes, clenches his jaw before he can embarrass himself. He breathes hard as Donut’s other hand fumbles for his dick and begins stroking him slowly. It’s agonizing parallel to the slide of Donut’s mouth on his fingers. The pressure starts building like he’s going to spontaneously combust.  

Donut pulls his mouth away and Grif has a moment’s relief before Donut kisses his fingertips and says, voice low and delighted and so warm that it’s like fire sparking at the base of Grif’s spine, “This is perfect, Grif. You’re perfect.”

Grif comes as Donut breathes out that last perfect. His breath shudders out of him, his heartbeat so loud that he misses whatever else Donut says next. When he can think again, he realizes he's still leaning against the pillar, and Donut's face is buried against Grif's shoulder as he groans and jerks himself off. When Donut comes, he moans Grif's name again. Grif closes his eyes just in time as Donut lifts his head, pretending to still be catching his breath. He doesn't want to see whatever look Donut’s wearing now.

“That was so much fun!” Donut says.

Grif can hear the pleased smile in his voice. “It,” he says. His throat is dry. He remembers thinking that this was going to be a shitty quickie, and almost laughs. He wants to punch himself in the face. He swallows. “It was better than I thought.”

Donut laughs. “Rude,” he says, not sounding offended. He combs a gentle hand through Grif’s hair.

Grif makes the mistake of opening his eyes. Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly the expression he didn’t want to see on Donut’s face. The open affection and satisfaction makes his skin itchy.

He shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow he’s caught off-guard when Donut asks, “So, I was thinking, maybe a round two if we get bored again?”

Grif hesitates. There’s a large-- a small part of him that wants to say yes. It’s not like he has any other offers, and who knows how long they’ll be stuck in this stupid canyon. And the sex had been shockingly good. But the rest of him recoils from the offer. The back of his neck burns as he remembers the way Donut’s compliments and touches made him feel, how easily Donut got under his skin.

He finally shakes his head. “Nah. A hook-up is a hook-up. No repeats.”

Donut’s face falls a little. His features settle into a small pout. “Friends with benefits is a thing too, Grif.”

Grif snorts. He pats Donut’s arm, and doesn’t let his hand linger. “Yeah, we’re not friends.” Before Donut’s expression can do more than start to twist with hurt, he adds, “We’re acquaintances. Fine, teammates. But come on. Have you ever heard teammates with benefits? That's not a thing, dude.”

“Pretty sure you could just call it casual sex and have some fun,” Donut mutters, but the disappointment is gone from his face. He shrugs, smiling slightly at Grif. “Fine, whatever. It’s your loss.” He raises an eyebrow and then glances around at the mess, the discarded armor and the junk drying on their skin. “So….”

“So,” Grif agrees. He’s relieved when Donut doesn’t press his luck. He nudges Donut’s bodysuit towards him with his foot. “My vote is that we abandon our posts and sneak down to the showers.”

Donut looks doubtful. “Won’t Sarge be mad if he catches us?”

“Yeah, but he’ll have an aneurysm if he finds us like this,” Grif says. He thinks that over for a second. “Wait, I changed my mind. We should stay right here until he shows up to relieve us.”

“You are a terrible person,” Donut says even as he grins. “This is why Sarge is gonna murder you in your sleep one day.”

Grif shrugs. He ignores the fondness lurking in Donut’s voice like a trap waiting to spring. “Eh, at least then I’d go out the way I wanted.”

“Taking a nap?”

“Taking a nap.”  


End file.
